


red || bucky barnes

by voguethranduil



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Taylor Swift, Nightmares, Some Canon, Some Plot, Summer Romance, some porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:53:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29507199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voguethranduil/pseuds/voguethranduil
Summary: a series of one-shots, inspired by taylor swift's album "red" ♡it's been a while, but this is a valentines/birthday gift for my best friend. love u the most.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Kudos: 8





	1. state of grace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lokisbitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokisbitch/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the classic nightmare trope, with some angst
> 
> ♡

_ You come around and the armor _ **_f a l l s_ **

_ Pierce the room like a  _ **_c a n n o n b a l l_ **

_ Now, all we know, is don’t  _ **_l e t g o._ **

* * *

_ Longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace…. _

His body twitches as those words come to him in his sleep, brow furrowing and muscles tensing. His heart feels like it’s a fucking  _ hammer  _ in his chest as his physical body feebly attempts to fight back against the dreadful words being whispered to him in his dream. With every word, the voice gets louder, and Bucky’s body reacts like he has no control over himself, as he desperately tries to fight back against it in his current state. All he can see are flashes of his past life as his breathing becomes steadily uneven as if he’s drowning in red, in the feeling of not being able to escape.

_ Nine, benign, homecoming, one…. _

He sucks in a sharp breath. The breath feels like sandpaper being forced down his throat, and he can't stop it.

Suddenly, he’s not in his bed anymore. 

He’s clinging for his life, the cold bitter air whipping around his face. The train feels so  _ real.  _

And then... he’s falling. He’s had this dream before, and it always ends the same. It ends with images of snow turning red as his bleary vision recognizes that his arm is five feet away from him, and the face of a monster. But this time, he doesn’t end up broken and in the snow.

He’s in a chair. Naked from the chest up and his long, stringy hair plastered to his face in sweat, with a fucking leather strap in his mouth. 

Bucky feels himself slipping, not sure what’s a dream and what’s real anymore. Everything feels so  _ real  _ and it’s like all five of his senses are being overstimulated with memories he’s tried  _ over  _ and  _ over  _ again to bury. All he knows is that he needs to fucking  _ get out and run and have some sense of self-preservation-  _

But then, he hears that voice again, as the electricity courses through his body. That evil, dreadful voice that starts maliciously whisper the last word…

He shoots himself straight up out of his bed, his sheets pooling around his waist, gasping for air as if he’s been drowning and he’s coming up for that life-saving, relieving breath of air. His hands are gripping his sheets so hard his fist is white and he can feel the dampness of the cold sweat. Bucky’s skin glistens and his hair sticks to his neck and forehead as he tries to ground himself, bringing himself back to the present. As he attempts to even his breathing, he looks around the room.

_ My briefs,  _ he begins to note, loosening his grip on the sheets.  _ My boots, my jacket, my phone... _

_ ….Her purse. Her hair tie. Her clothes. _

Bucky shifts to look beside him, frowning when he sees the vacant space where you were supposed to be. You were with him last night; lips leaving hot trails on skin, demanding hands gripping on to one another as if it were the end of the world it was the last time you’d get to see each other. It had become a routine, he supposes; the sex between you two was your secret, a secret that you both began to seek out more and more as a means of escape from the reality that you both live in. 

His hand slowly releases his grip from the sheet to smooth over the hills of the blanket, and before he can overthink about where you might’ve snuck off to, the door opens to you, wearing his henley that practically drowns your figure, and his worries about you are calmed. 

“Hey,” you say softly. Bucky already knows that you’re quite aware of what just occurred. You’ve always been perceptive of him, of his feelings. It drove him crazy at first -- but he’s learned to grow fond of it. It saves him the embarrassment of fumbling over his words when he doesn’t know how to express his feelings. “Nightmare?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, voice hoarse. These nightmares always seem to suck the life out of him. “Nightmare.”

“Was it the usual?” You inquire as you shut the door, making your way back to your spot in the bed. You don’t mention the sweat on the sheets, and he’s thankful for that. 

“Yeah, the usual.” He groans, making room for you beside him. He doesn’t say a word as you gently reach out for his arm, wrapping it around your shoulders as he lays with you. Cuddling and touching like this is something new, something foreign that you’ve both been getting used to with each other. In moments like these, he’s thankful that he’s gotten better with soft touches like this, as it pulls his mind away from the nightmares. “S’different, though. Not just one. Two.”

You’ve learned that Bucky talks when Bucky wants to talk. Pushing and prodding for him to tell you what’s wrong never turned out pretty, for either of you. Just like with the cuddling and soft touches, the vulnerability that comes from him now is new; he usually isn’t open with others. But for you, he’s trying, and you kiss his bicep as he continues.

“There was-the train. And Steve. And that damn…” Bucky starts, but his voice falters. “...that damn voice. Those words…” 

Your breath catches slightly. His gleaming metal hand rakes through his hair and he stops his words, and you watch as his Adam’s apple bobs as if he was trying to hold it together. You just curl into his side, attempting to get closer than you already all, if possible. The heat that comes from your body comforts him, as does the way you kiss his cheek. 

“Bucky-I-Fuck. I’m-I’m sorry” You reply sympathetically. You knew from the beginning that there was no way in the world you could ever relate to what Bucky went through, all those years ago; the trauma, the killing, the suffering -- no -- more like  _ torture.  _

And he knows that you never could. But you’re here, listening to him attempt to begin to tell you how he feels, and that’s enough for him. He never thought he would ever be able to talk to someone about how he feels, what torments him when his eyes  _ finally  _ shut after avoiding sleep--

But he can. It’s fucking  _ terrifying  _ and  _ exciting  _ at the same time and it confuses him. Instead of shoving those feelings away, leaving you to be wrapped up in his sheets as he’s done so many times; he holds you tighter against him, the cold metal of his arm warming as your skin connects to it. He finds as the nights go on, with you, his arm that once was a product; a fucking  _ machine,  _ a goddamn  _ puppet  _ for someone else’s cruel intentions - can be something beautiful, something that can bring  _ pleasure  _ instead of pain.

(You’re to thank for that.)

“I want to sleep now,” he whispers, voice more gentle than you’ve ever heard before. “And I want you to stay with me.”

“Of course, Bucky. Of course.”

* * *

_ This is the golden age of something  _ **_g o o d_ ** __

_ and  _ **_r i g h t_ ** _ and  _ **_r e a l._ **


	2. come back...be here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a summer romance au, with an inevitable ending.
> 
> ♡

_ If I had known what I'd known now _

_ I never would've played so nonchalant _

* * *

_ I’ll be coming to see you tonight. Usual time, yeah? _

_ Buck _

It’s strange how a handwritten note can distract you from your responsibilities all day. Your co-worker gave you shit when Bucky left it for you, at his usual table. She kept commenting on your rosy cheeks, knowing how this boy affects you. Even when you retort back, protecting your real feelings from her, she knows how hard you’ve fallen for him.

(Ever since the start of the Summer, when he got comfortable with you, he’d start leaving you notes on napkins. You haven’t told him that you have them all; tucked away in a box, memories from this Summer with him.)

It’s late August now, and things in your small, oceanside town are slowing down. Tourists are leaving their expensive rentals, beaches are clearing out by the day, kids are going back to school, and the traffic in the diner that you work at has slowed exponentially. Normally, you’d be looking forward to work slowing down; that means less work for you, as the usual elderly people who reside here all year begin being regulars again.

But this has not been a normal Summer, all thanks to  _ him. _

James. Or, Bucky, as he prefers. You learned that the first time he introduced himself to you, with that easy smirk he always wears.

His family came to stay here for the Summer; their first real vacation, after working their asses off to get to be where they are today. He’s your age, 19; still looking for his place in the world, being reckless when he can because  _ hey,  _ now’s the time to do it, when people expect you to make mistakes. You on the other hand? You’re 19 and stuck in a small town, taking care of a younger sibling as your father drinks his days away, mourning the loss of a wife, the mother to his children. 

She passed a year ago, and ever since then, you’ve bared the weight of the family’s responsibilities, the family’s reputation,  _ everything  _ to keep things running smoothly. When you’re the responsible one, there’s no time for fun, for recklessness, and certainly not for boys. So back in June, when a boy with gleaming blue eyes and an air of easiness sat in your section, you fell  _ hard  _ and you fell  _ fast. _

Being with Bucky is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. It’s like coming home, after being on a sunny beach all day; a burn blossoming on your cheeks, sand still between your fingernails, and hair damp from the water. It’s like driving through an empty road in the countryside, wind whipping through your hair as you think to yourself,  _ it can’t get better than this. _

June and July had passed quicker than the sand in an hourglass falls. Every day was spent with him, regardless if you had work or not. He’d pick you up on his motorcycle, every day being a new adventure. It was hard, in the beginning; allowing yourself  _ fun  _ seemed impossible and  _ wrong  _ on so many levels - who would take care of dinner? Who would take care of your sister? Your dad? It all seemed  _ insane,  _ but Bucky made it better. He always knows how to make you feel better.

You swam, you hiked, you laughed, you kissed...every day felt like a dream that could be so easily altering the way you think. Within a few weeks, he turned your gray and dreary outlook on life colorful, almost reviving the life that you lived before everything snowballed into treachery. 

But as the amazing, tiring days with him passed, you knew the end was coming. It was inevitable, really.

He’s a Brooklyn boy. Born and raised, through and through. He was going back home in August, and not just back home; he was planning on enlisting. 

_ Army,  _ he had said.  _ Got shit else happening in my life. Might as well. _

He told you nonchalantly, in the beginning, when all you would do is talk at the diner, on your slow days. You didn’t think much of it, and he didn’t bring it up again; even when you’d be wrapped up in your sheets together, the easy pillow talk escaping his lips. 

But the note he leaves you today doesn’t give you the normal butterflies and rosy cheeks. It leaves you with a sinking gut feeling that you’ve been shoving  _ down down down  _ ever since he kissed you for the first time. So, as you scrub the counters while watching the clock, anxiously awaiting the end of your shift, you prepare yourself for the end; the end of the best thing you’ve ever had, and arguably… the best thing you ever  _ will  _ have.

* * *

12 A.M., sharp.

_ Plunk, plunk.  _

The small rocks that hit your window make you shoot out of your bed, practically tossing the book you had been reading to distract yourself. 

(More like rereading the same page, too anxious to think of anything else.)

Pushing up on your window, you chuckle quietly to yourself as Bucky looks up at you, grinning that stupid grin he always has. His hair looks damp as he rakes a hand through it.

“Watch out princess, m’comin’ up.” He calls out, as quiet as he can be in the situation.

“Don’t break any bones, please.” 

“You know I won’t.”

He jumps up to the tree adjacent to your house, legs swinging to support himself as he easily scales the tree. He’s pretty adept at this, with nights and nights of practice to ensure that he doesn’t fall. As if it was nothing, you move aside for Bucky to reach the window sill and easily swing himself in. You can’t help but bite back a smile as he shuts the window quietly, and turns to face you.

“There’s my best girl,” he says, stepping towards you. His hands cup your cheeks as he presses his lips against yours. “I missed you.”

Like it always is, you melt like butter as he touches you and kisses you like that. How could you not, with someone like him?

“I missed you too.” You answer, but your voice is muffled by his lips. Pulling away from you, he tucks your hair behind your ears.

The look he gives you now is different than he normally looks at you. His thumb runs against your lower lip, his eyes slowly tracing the features on your face. Neither of you says anything for a long time, afraid to shatter the delicate silence as he memorizes the way you look in this moment. 

You know what he’s doing, and you start to do the same. Neither of you wants to say it, but, you want to remember this, you want to remember  _ each other.  _

Leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him, after a long silence, his brow furrows and his hands slide to hold your waist; fingers gripping your skin there.

“Touch me,” you sigh against his mouth, hand gripping the hair at the back of his neck. Something in your voice tells Bucky that tonight is going to be different, from all the other times you’ve slept together. “Please-just-please, Bucky.”

So he does. He lifts you like you weigh absolutely nothing, lips never leaving yours. With each touch, each kiss, each  _ gasp;  _ you pathetically attempt to stop your brain from thinking about what’s bound to come.

Afterward, as you lay in the humid, hot air in your room, you’re in his arms. You’ve grown accustomed to this; his sweaty skin against your equally sweaty skin, the window propped open, relishing in the air that hits you. But unlike those nights, no one has said a word yet. And no one does, until he clears his throat, kissing your cheek.

“My flight leaves early tomorrow.”

The words cut through you harder than you thought they would.

“Oh.” That’s all that you can manage to stay. It’s all you  _ can  _ say. The pounding in your head starts then, and you feel as if a rug is being pulled from beneath you.

“Would you want to… see me off? I know Rebecca would want to say goodbye, too.” He says it carefully; his voice an octave higher than normal. He’s nervous. 

You don’t look at him, because if you do, your dream-like state that you’ve been living in will leave you and you’ll be left alone with the reality that you started in. So you just nod slowly, burying yourself in his arms, and reply,

“Yeah, I can do that.”

* * *

The last time you were in an airport, you were just a girl, saying goodbye to your grandparents. You hadn’t thought of the next time you’d ever be back here; it was so far away from where you resided. 

But here you are, with Bucky, a boy who’s changed every fiber of who you are. He’s leaving you to go back to his life in Brooklyn, his new life that he’s going to be making for himself. Your heart is practically breaking already as his parents and sister leave you two to say your goodbyes.

Bag in hand, and a baseball cap on his head, Bucky just grabs you in his arms. He’s strong, and he knows it - you  _ certainly  _ know it - but you don’t care that you feel like he’s breaking you. You’d gladly let him break you, a thousand times over if it meant you never would have to leave his arms again.

He kisses your head, and that’s when your first tear falls. He pulls away after a moment, the sadness in his eyes apparent.

“Hey-hey. Don’t cry, princess.” His thumb comes to swipe under your eye, and you just hiccup.  _ This is pathetic,  _ you think, berating yourself. “I had a lot of fun this Summer.”

“I did too. I just-I don’t want to go back to reality, I guess.” You manage to answer, wondering how he can be so calm when he clearly wants to just...stay. With you.

“It’ll be okay. I have your number and address. I promise I’ll call and text, and hey, maybe even send you a napkin note.” He reassures, chuckling a little, which makes you smile slightly. “There’s my favorite smile.”

Your rosy cheeks return, and he kisses you again. His family calls his name, and he sighs in annoyance, turning to make a face, a face that reads  _ yeah yeah, I got it. I’m coming.  _ Turning back to you, he regains his focus. He’s doing it again -- memorizing you.

“You changed my life, you know that?” Bucky all but whispers.

Regardless if he knows it or not, he’s making this harder for you. You can’t really blame him, though.

“You changed mine too, Buck.” You reply, voice shaking. 

With another call from his dad, all he can do now is kiss you; and boy, does he kiss you. He grabs you and it nearly makes you gasp, but it’s quickly swallowed by his mouth on yours; no cares in the world -- which is classic for him. You don’t care how much of a mess you look as he pulls away, and he says,

“I’ll see you later, ok?”

And as he brought color and life back into your life, the world around you feels as if it fades to black and white, returning to the state he found you in, as he walks away to the terminal. In another life, another time, you’ll find him again.

But for now, you mourn. You mourn what you could have had with him, and you drive home, radio on silent. Allowing yourself to be sad is the only way you can remind yourself that what you had with him was  _ real  _ and that something like that for you is  _ possible. _

* * *

_ This is when the feeling  _ **_s i n k s i n,_ **

_ I don't wanna miss you _ **_l i k e t h i s._ **


End file.
